


Blood and Silk

by TinyHannah



Category: Devil May Cry, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, I don't know how to tag this, Luche is not so reluctantly being controlled, M/M, Office Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rope Bondage, Vergil is controlling, the crossover no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 00:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyHannah/pseuds/TinyHannah
Summary: Luche isn't one for letting go of control. Vergil makes him.Or the alternative summary of...Luche, his desk and Vergil... and the story of how Luche will never look at his desk in the same way again.





	Blood and Silk

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the crossover that no one asked for. 
> 
> This is set in the same universe as [The Devil and God are Raging Inside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900132/chapters/47134645). The DMC boys kicked the door down, tore up our rules and refused to leave and, well, here we all are.

In the low light of the office Vergil stretches. His movements are almost cat-like in the graceful way he stalks the room. He rolls his shoulders and stretches, casting his eye around the wood panelled office. The lamplights mounted in the walls cast a soft glow, the moonlight casting long shadows around the room.

Vergil places his hand around the exposed throat of the man he has laid out in front of him, wrapping long fingers around the vulnerable flesh and applies the slightest pressure. He leans down until his lips brush skin, and he notes the way the other flinches from the proximity, and he whispers, “You know I could kill you right here and now.” 

He speaks without inflection, there is no question to be answered, although the way the other man’s breath hitches and the way he arches his back tells him everything he needs to know. Vergil allows himself a slight smile, withdraws his hand and continues his circling of the restrained glaive. 

Luche strains against the restraints, muscles pulling and tightening, and he tries to gauge how much movement he has been allowed. Not much it turns out when he really tests it. The plaited leather rope that is binding him allows for a certain degree of give as it stretches slightly, but not enough that he can change his position, and certainly not enough for him to feel any degree of control over the situation. If he stretches out and really pulls on his bindings, he can arch his back, but it is uncomfortable and not a position that he can maintain for any amount of time. 

His wrists are bound together and secured above his head and pulled down towards the leg of the heavy walnut desk that sits in the centre of the office. 

His legs are spread, leaving him feeling vulnerable and on show – the fact that he is clad only in his white button down and dark green silk tie contributing to this feeling – and his ankles restrained to the wood below him, tight enough so that he can only slightly bend at the knee. The way his legs are crooked over his desk is uncomfortable and the edges of the wood are digging uncomfortably into his thighs, but the way he has been positioned over the desk, and tied from corner to corner, leaves no other option. 

His body is responding in ways he didn’t expect. Through the meticulous way that Vergil bound his wrists first, leaving his shirt on him, although making sure to removing his cufflinks and set them to one side, so that he had easy access to his wrists to decorate in leather. 

Once satisfied his wrists were bound, Vergil then makes his way steadily down his body, unbuttoning the shirt with deft fingers, hands teasing his skin and tracing the defined muscles of his chest and torso, before removing the lower portion of the glaives clothing somewhat unceremoniously and tossing them aside. He takes another length of leather and starts work on the knots restraining his ankles. Luche tips his head back again, thinking that he has no interest in this – that he’s only along for the ride so to speak – and then realises with a shock he’s half hard. He wasn’t expecting such a reaction so quickly; perhaps he is more invested in this than he first thought.

He tries to watch what Vergil is doing but the angle he is bound at makes it difficult to see beyond the edge of the desk, so instead he imagines the skill with which the knots were being tied, the red-brown rope being looped so that it wouldn’t tighten so much as to cause his circulation to be cut, but tight enough to leave an imprint once removed. Luche knows this takes a fair amount of skill, he’s tied similar knots himself many a time, and been intimately familiar with the marks they leave behind, but he’s not acquainted with them being used on him. 

Luche flexes his foot once Vergil has finished and moved on to binding his other ankle. He feels the leather grip his skin - it’s just this side of too tight and the pinch when he tries moving further is enough to stop him in his tracks. He sighs, closing his eyes and taking a moment before readying himself for what he knows is to come. He opens his eyes again to see Vergil standing above him holding a length of heavy black cloth in his hands that is brought down towards him and cuts the light from the room.

“The final touch. For now.”

Vergil starts to tease. He knows exactly what the glaive is craving, and he knows exactly how to shy away from giving it, whilst also giving exactly what he knows he wants. He’s always enjoyed having someone bound and at his mercy, and having someone usually so dominant and controlling is always an extra delight.

He trails his fingertips across the body laid out in front of him, enjoying the expanse of well-muscled, pale flesh on display. Vergil hums appreciatively to himself and thinks how beautiful this skin will look covered in marks, how beautifully it will hold his scratches, his bites and very quickly his light touches turn into scores, which turn into sharp reminders to Luche of the power that is currently being held above him. 

The scratches stand out as stark echoes, pale skin raising in delicate red lines, a design being drawn, and Vergil is reminded again why a captive body is his favourite canvas. He allows himself a moment to just enjoy the sight before him, and palms himself through him slacks, groaning lightly with the slight relief the pressure brings him, before returning to the task at hand and drawing his nails sharply up the inside thigh of the man before him. 

Luche cries out at the sting and pulls sharply at the restraints, trying and failing to move somewhere, anywhere. He’s breathing hard, that latest shock enough to send his heartbeat into overdrive and now he’s allowed himself to cry out he can’t seem to stop the whimpers that are following.

Luche’s breath catches in his throat, and he wrestles with his composure. He is determined to show some degree of self-restraint, he doesn’t want to simply be a meal offered up on a silver platter. Although, with the way his heart is increasing, and the way his blood seems only to be directing itself south, he’s finding it harder than he thought he would to keep control. 

Vergil removes the fine silk tie Luche is wearing, carefully pulling it free from around his neck, and turning the material over in his hands. 

“You’d look quite exquisite choking your cries into this do you not think.” Vergil speaks coldly, there is no trace of affection, reminding Luche that this is being played strictly on others terms. 

Vergil roughly grabs a handful of blond hair and forces the glaive to meet his eye. He cocks his head to one side, a mock impression of being thoughtful – as though he really is considering the merits of what he is about to say. 

“Seems a shame to have this stuffed in your mouth, and yet… the way your gaze has darkened tells me you would not complain.”

Once the tie has been drawn between parted teeth and secured, Vergil starts his torture. The lightest touches are now mixed with something with a bit more bite. The first time Vergil sinks his teeth into the soft skin over sharp hip bones Luche bucks his hips wildly, held back only by the restraints that have been so carefully placed. Vergil has preceded the bite by licking a stripe straight from collarbone to hip and given no warning, and the cries bitten into the gag only fuel his desire. Luche is panting around the silk, tightening his hands around the rope holding him in an illusion of control and he’s not sure how much more of this he can take.

Until he feels the bite of what he can only assume is his own belt on his thigh.

There is a sharp crack as it connects with his skin, and Luche arches his back – craving the contact – and he finds himself beginning to let go. Losing himself in the moment, he has no option now, bound and restrained, gagged and blindfolded. There is nowhere that he can go, there is no way out, and each time the leather connects with his skin he wants to cry, he wants it to stop, he wants more, he wants release.

Luche always thought it was beneath him to beg. Never thought it would be something he would succumb to, something that he would do. But now, after what feels like hours of teasing, of being brought so close to what he wants, all he wants now is to be touched in the way that he’s craving, he’s so hard it hurts and he just wants some physical contact with his cock. Vergil’s hand skims up his thigh and traces the outline of the muscles that he finds there. His nails scratch over his hip bone, and Luche draws a breath, he feels Vergil’s hand moving slowly towards his cock; his entire body tensing in anticipation and he sobs in relief. 

Luche wants to beg – he wants to beg; he wants to plead – he wants this, and he wants to make it known. The tie pulled tight through his teeth doesn’t leave him much choice though, and all he can do is bite down on to it, and the only noise he can get through is a muffled sob. He should be pleased for the gag; it’s sparing him the indignity of baring his soul with all the words he knows he should not want to say. And yet, the sob that he manages to get through it not much less humiliating.

As soon as the sound leaves his mouth Luche knows he’s made a mistake. He’s played this game one too many times on the other side of the coin, and he knows exactly how he would react in this situation. He isn’t wrong about the way that Vergil chooses to play. 

Vergil snatches his hand away and raises an eyebrow, although with the heavy blindfold currently covering Luche’s eyes the effect is somewhat lost. 

Vergil tuts at him. 

“But you’ve been so quiet until now. I will find a better way to gag you.”

Luche arches his back, chasing the contact of Vergil’s hand and unapologetic in how much those words have spoken to him and left him wanting. He screws his eyes shut under the blindfold, tries to get his breathing under control and doesn’t notice the hand finding its way into the longer hair at the back of his head.

Vergil unbuttons the charcoal grey slacks he is wearing and pulls his cock out, whilst holding on to the back of Luche’s head, making sure he’s facing exactly the way that he wants him. 

“Good.”

Vergil pulls off the gag and tosses the tie to the other side of the room where it catches on a coat hook and guides himself towards the mouth before him. Luche subconsciously licks his lips and feel the tip of Vergil’s cock nudge against him. He parts his lips, fully in the knowledge that this will likely neither be slow or gentle, and he works to slacken his jaw and flatten his tongue. 

Vergil allows the glaive enough movement to take the lead to start, letting him control the movement and decide how much how wants to take into his mouth. He gives the freedom for him to fully take his head back, to lick and suck up the length of him, before finding the tip again and taking him back him into his mouth, much deeper than before and swallowing around his cock.

Without hands to assist, or being able to be at a proper angle, its messy. Spit and precum falling down his lips, and Vergil casts his eyes over the welts raising along the glaives body, the bruises starting to form at his wrists, and the way he is pushing his body to take more.

Vergil takes a grip in Luche’s hair and holds the glaives head firmly in place. He runs a thumb around the lips stretched wide around his cock, gathering the saliva that has pooled at the corner. He narrows his eyes and decides that he would quite like to see the submission in Luche’s eyes as he finishes this and pulls the blindfold off without preamble. 

“You want to watch this. Eyes on me, no drifting off anywhere.”

He rolls his hips forward, feeling the back of Luche’s throat before withdrawing completely. 

Luche coughs weakly, licks his lips and stares up at Vergil with what could only be described as a pleading expression. 

“Just as I thought… You really do enjoy being controlled.”

He gives himself a couple of strokes, grip firm around his cock and he watches the way Luche’s eyes do not leave his hand, tracing his movements entirely before closing the distance between them and guiding himself into the willing mouth open before him. 

The pace is faster. Rougher. Vergil doesn’t leave him time to adjust his jaw and get comfortable before hitting his stride. Luche’s eyes go wide and he forces himself to relax his throat, taking all of his cock that he can. His eyes prick with tears and there is spittle running down his chin, and he feels completely... at peace with himself. 

With one hand clutching at the blond’s hair holding him still, Vergil takes his other and brushes lightly along Luche’s face. He trails his touch from temple to jaw and back up to the corner of his eyes to gather the salt, the touch deceptively gentle despite the frenetic pace his hips are setting. He raises his fingertips to his mouth and, tasting the salt of the tears, he tips his head back to let his gaze fall on the ceiling and his movements become erratic, losing control as he nears the edge. 

He feels a weak nod and a hum around his cock, and he smiles to himself, accepting the invitation - this one really does learn fast - and he comes with a groan, making sure he is far enough down his throat that swallowing is not optional. Vergil slows his movements and takes a deep breath, running one hand through his hair and pushing it back up and into place, before stepping back and tucking himself back into his slacks, straightening his clothes and smirking down at the bound man below him.

Luche tries again to slow his breathing, tries to get his rapid heartbeat under control, tries to force himself to relax. Close his eyes and count to ten, desperately tries to focus on anything except the aching of his cock. He’s no less hard, and he needs more, he needs this.

He opens his eyes again to see Vergil above him, positioned above him, hands braced on either side of his head. Not that there ever had been any doubt about who was controlling this scene, but there is somehow even less now. Luche looks up at the cold eyes looking down at him, looking down on him and he feels a thrill shoots through his body, electrifying his nerve endings and he is hoping that this is not yet over.

Vergil turns and frees Luche’s ankles and forces him to stand on unsteady legs. He enjoys watching the usually so composed and sure of himself glaive struggle to get his body to cooperate as he twists himself onto his feet. Wrists still bound, he is forced to bend at hips and lean into his desk, he may be somewhat freer than he was moments ago and yet he does not feel any less a piece of prey to be feasted upon. 

Vergil feels around in the drawers underneath the solid top of the walnut, and chuckles to himself when his fingers brush what he is looking for.

“Aren’t we prepared? Not the first time in your office I see, though I imagine this is the first time you’ve been in quite such a compromising position yourself.”

Vergil pours the cool liquid into his hand, running the other up the glaives back and gathering the crisp shirt up and out of his way. He leans a knee in between Luche’s thighs and forces him to reposition himself, legs spread wider to accommodate the other man.

“Such a sight you are here before me. Again.”

Vergil runs his hand up the inside of Luche’s thigh, before pressing a finger inside the willing body in front of him. Luche hisses at the intrusion and tips his head onto the desk and forces his body to relax.

He finds himself rocking back, craving more, wanting more, and before he knows it the words are spilling weakly from his lips,

“…more, ah, please more…”

He’s so lost in himself, in the moment, in what is happening that it doesn’t dawn on him until much later the way he is finally begging for what he wants. Vergil, of course, does not miss this, and makes sure to remind him, “Never can you say that I’m not obliging…”, before increasing his pace and his fingers and crooking his wrist until he finds what he’s looking for. He presses over the bundle of nerves with the same little mercy he’s shown Luche up until now and Luche finds his knees buckle and he’s gripping on to the rope binding him, all previous attempts at controlling the noises he’s making long gone as he cries out again for more.

Vergil pulls his fingers away, coating himself in the lube remaining on his hand, and pushes in to Luche in one swift moment. Luche whimpers, and then moans, and then arches his back and tenses the muscles in his thighs and braces himself as surely as he can against his desk; his poor desk that he’s quite sure he will never be able to look at in quite the same way ever again. 

Of course, this is the time when the demon would come to play, and Luche feels nails rake down his back, making all his nerve endings stand on end. The relentless pace being set is too much, he wants to sob, cry out – he does sob and cry out – and it’s not enough, he needs more, he wants more. 

He lets his mind drift in his pleasure, he can see himself, as though watching on a screen. Pinned to his desk, at the mercy of his captor, writhing in ecstasy crying out for more, he can see Vergil behind him, hand gripping the bundle of material of his shirt gathered up around his shoulder blades, other hand drawing a pattern of red stripes down his back… and he thinks for a split second what if the roles were reversed.

And it is with the thought of cold steel eyes bending to his control that he comes with a shout, trying to find something to hold onto, pulling hard against his bindings and hearing the wood begin to creak. 

His body is wracked with spasms and were it not for the bruising grip on his hips he isn’t sure that his legs would hold him. Vergil shows no mercy, increasing first his pace and then how hard he is fucking into him. 

Sweat rolls down his neck, and Vergil loosens the top buttons of his shirt, and takes a fistful of hair and pulls him into his chest as far as the restraints allow. 

“You wanted this, remember you wanted this, and remember who it was that showed you how much you wanted this.” There is the demon again, and he growls into Luche’s ear. 

Vergil leans over him, one hand pressing Luche’s face into the desk, and the other finding purchase on the surface in front of him. He rolls his hips sharply, and the way that Luche cries out beneath him has him finding is own release, digging his nails into wood and leaving a deep gouge.

Of course, Vergil isn’t one for staying around after the event. He straightens his back, cracks his shoulders, and looks painfully put together for all that he had just been indulging. He casts a cold eye over the glaive now slumped against the leg of the desk, one leg crooked to his chest and his wrists still bound above him, and smirks before walking out of the office and into the night.

Luche attempts to gather his thoughts, work out what the fuck just happened and try to unpack just how he felt about it. He is just calming his thoughts and regaining the control that he prides himself on when the door to his office crashes open.

“Verge, you still here? I thought we could go through the—”

Dante clatters into the office with little care for the door, or the frame, and starts when he sees Luche. He takes one look at him, half broken sitting on the floor with his wrists still bound above him.

“Ooookay... I’m guessing Vergil is around somewhere so that answers my question,” Dante gives a knowing wink and saunters around the office taking in the picture before him.

Luche weakly hisses at him as he passes, too exhausted to find anything clever to say and Dante walks around him and crouches in front of him. He runs a finger over the bites down his throat, smiling when the touch sensitive glaive flinches and lets out the start of a moan from the touch. 

He stands and puts a flick knife on the desk, just slightly out of reach.

“You need that. No way you are untying those knots. Trust me. I know.” He grins openly this time as Luche returns the look with a glare and watches him leave the office, thankfully having the good grace to shut the door behind him. 

He sighs and tip his head back into the solid wood, half hoping that it might knock some sense into him, whilst scrabbling his fingers across his desk, the tips of his fingers just touching the edge of Dante’s flick knife. 

“Fucking Sparda’s...”, he growls to himself, and then allows himself a small sigh of relief as he manages to pull the knife into his palm, release the blade and slice through the leather. He’ll give the cocky bastard one thing, he keeps his blades sharp and he respects that. 

Luche stands, rubbing his wrists, and is slightly embarrassed to notice his legs still don’t quite seem to want to hold his body weight. He grabs his slacks and pulls them on, not bothering to even search for his underwear figuring he’s sure he’ll find it soon. He leans back into his desk, rolling his head back and giving his shoulders a satisfying crack. He hasn’t felt this sort of relaxation in quite some time, it’s a more boneless feeling than giving his bloodlust what he craves, and he thinks he might be able to get used to it. 

He turns and runs his eye over the mess his usually organised desk has become and curses himself for not having dropped those forms to Clarus earlier because they are certainly going to need rewriting now. As he is gathering them into a pile, he sweeps his hand across the desk and his fingertips catch in the gouge Vergil has left. His eyes go dark as he realises that the demon has marked him in more ways than one and he snarls to himself. 

“This is far from over...”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to both [Caillieach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caillieach/pseuds/Caillieach) and [Zyrielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyrielle/pseuds/Septembre_Rain) for your invaluable help in making tags, summaries, and generally enabling this madness. I love you both <3


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